Chapter 13 Part 2: Unleashing the Beast

Athenor's muscles burned with the thrill of combat as he analyzed the corrupted Troll's movements. It was unlike any he had faced before—stronger, faster, and infused with magic that made its hide tougher than stone. The dark seidr magic crackled around its form, warping the air as if reality itself recoiled from its presence.

The Troll lunged again, its club swinging in a deadly arc. Athenor barely dodged, rolling under the massive limb and slicing at its calf. Sparks flew as his weapon scraped against the hardened flesh, but it barely made a dent.

Not enough.

Athenor's mind raced. His strength had increased significantly—his integration with the Berserker template had made him stronger than ever—but this creature was something else. His usual tactics weren't enough.

The beast roared, lifting its club once more. This time, seidr runes glowed across its weapon, and as it brought the club down, a surge of corrupted energy exploded outward. Athenor's eyes widened.

Too fast—

The force sent him flying. He crashed through a tree, splintering wood around him as he hit the ground hard. Pain shot through his ribs, but he didn't have time to think about it. The moment he landed, the Troll was already closing the distance, raising its weapon for a final, crushing blow.

Athenor's vision blurred. His instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, but something inside him stirred—something primal.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his throat. His grip on his weapon tightened until his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded like a war drum, his breath came out in ragged gasps, and a foreign heat surged through his veins—an intoxicating, unrelenting rage.

His mind flickered.

The Troll's club came down.

Athenor didn't dodge. He stepped into the attack.

BOOM!

Dust and debris erupted from the ground as the shockwave tore through the battlefield. For a moment, silence reigned. The corrupted beast sneered, believing its prey had been crushed.

Then, a faint chuckle.

Low, dark, unhinged.

From the settling dust, Athenor emerged.

The club had connected—but he had caught it.

His arms trembled, not from weakness, but from the sheer force of the impact. His fingers dug into the enchanted wood, cracks forming beneath his grip. His shoulders flexed, his breath came out in ragged bursts, and his pupils had dilated into something inhuman.

The fire within him had ignited fully.

His Berserker's instincts had awakened.

With a snarl, Athenor tore the club from the Troll's grip, swinging it with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a human. The weapon, once wielded by a monster, was now his.

CRACK!

The club smashed into the Troll's chest, sending the beast stumbling backward. Athenor didn't stop. He moved like a storm incarnate, his attacks unrelenting, feral.

The Troll raised an arm to block—too slow.

Athenor's newfound strength sent the club crashing into its wrist, shattering bone on impact. The beast howled, but Athenor didn't stop. He lunged, delivering a savage knee to its gut before swinging his fist directly into its jaw. The corrupted giant reeled, black ichor dripping from its lips.

Athenor's body thrummed with raw power. Every strike, every movement was faster, sharper, more devastating. His vision was tinged red, his breaths deep and animalistic. The Berserker's Madness had taken hold.

The Troll, now desperate, began chanting in its corrupted tongue, seidr magic swirling around its hands. It was preparing something big.

Athenor grinned—a wicked, predatory grin.

Let it try.

His sanity teetered on the edge, his body screaming for more destruction.

The battle was reaching its climax.